Night Terrors
by Twix10
Summary: There may not be much that shinigami/vaizard Kurosaki Ichigo fears, but there is one thing that gives him nightmares... Ichihime fic for the FLOL 3rd Annual Ichihime Halloween contest. Enjoy!


So here I am with another Halloween fic....

_**Written for the 3**__**rd**__** Annual Ichihime Halloween competition on FLOL. Written with a dash of the creepy and scary for your halloween pleasure.**_

_**Please enjoy and do leave reviews and/or criticisms. They are much appreciated**_.

Good luck to my fellow writers in the competition. I can't wait to see the entries!!!

An: Thank God for Betas! I don't know how i could have posted this without the help of one, so Thank you, beta-chan!!!!

_**Night Terrors**_

Ichigo couldn't recall exactly how it had started.

One day, he had gotten home, tired from work, and it was just there, a frail form wrapped in dirty, torn up rags, face hidden in the dark confines of the dirty hood covering its head. It was curled into itself, sitting at one corner of the door to his apartment, knees tucked under its chin. He recalled it looked like a waif, a thing with big eyes of an indescribable color, but he figured that was how it was supposed to look. It was a ghost after all, dead and not really there.

Tired as he was, he had debated awhile on what to do about it- to approach or not to approach- but in the end it made little difference at all, because as soon as he approached it, the thing- he couldn't tell if it was a boy or a girl- glanced up at him with wide, frightened eyes and just disappeared, fading away into nothingness before he could reach it. Frowning puzzledly at the behaviour, he had stared at the space for a moment before he shrugged it off. He continued inside and went to bed, telling himself he was not going to stress about its strange behaviour. Funnily, despite that, his sleep was fitful and restless that night and he woke up feeling even more tired. Though he had tried not to think about it, there had just been something "off" about the little spirit, and though he couldn't put his finger on what exactly, it bothered him enough to trouble his sleep. Still, getting set for the day, he forced himself not to think about it, telling himself that after its disappearance act last night, it was highly unlikely it would return.

It was there again the next evening, however, huddled into the same corner.

Too tired to bother with it and a little wary of what it might do, he didn't even attempt to approach it. It would probably just run away again, he decides. So turning his eyes away, he puts it as another thing to deal with later when he's not so exhausted and proceeds to open his door.

The fathomless eyes never leave him, though. He can feel it like its burning holes into his skin and when the key finally slides home, he is more than a little happy to get away from the unnerving stare. It follows him into his dreamless sleep, however, and again, he wakes up more tired than when he went to bed.

It soon becomes a nightly ritual.

It's there when he gets home and, though he seems to get closer when he makes the effort to reach it again, the result is always the same. It fades away before he can reach it, eyes wide with terror, leaving him with a bitter aftertaste in his mouth and another night of restless sleep haunted by fathomless eyes.

Then, one night, when he returns home, expecting the relentless spirit to be crouched in the corner, he finds a spot vacant.

'_Good riddance_,' he thinks, but there's a niggling feeling associated with the absence. He tells himself that perhaps one of the shinigami representatives have finally done their jobs and given the restless spirit a soul burial, but his rationalisation sounds wrong, even to him.

It's not there again the next night, not that he expected it to be, but for whatever reason, the niggling feeling won't leave him alone. It was, annoying as it was, only a child, and he had somehow come to expect it there whenever he got home. It had become kind of incorporated into his routine, and the thought of it being devoured by Hollows plagued him in his sleep, forcing him to get up and go looking for it.

Since it had always shown up at his house, he didn't know where to start however. He checked the parks, the local school grounds and then ended up surfing the internet at a cafe a small distance from his house in an effort to locate any information about a missing or dead child that looked like the spirit he was searching for.

He came up with nothing.

Frustrated, he had gone home, shrugged out of his clothes and too tired to even move- he'd spent almost six hours running around the damn city- he fell asleep. An hour or two later, he was jerked awake. Frowning, he tried to pinpoint exactly what had roused him, but the night was filled with too many sounds to make it an exact science. The house was settling loudly, and the walls creaked in the wind. The branches of the trees outside his windows scratched together loudly, and the nocturnal creatures in the woods had decided to serenade him in a pure cacophony of unsettling noises. Even the moonlight seemed a bit too lively, shining brightly through his window and casting weird shadows on his bed.

Yet, it was nothing he did not endure every night, so he settled back under the sheets and fell back to sleep.

Not even five minutes later and he was up again, this time disturbed by a different sound.

Now, strange noises— like poundings on the walls, footsteps on the roof, doors slamming in other parts of the house, people screaming through the night--were not uncommon in his house, and had increased in occurrence in the past year- thanks to some of his unwelcomed 'otherworldly' guests and their efforts to get his attention. However, this sound was different.

It was the sound of music- a particular piece of music that seemed vaguely familiar but which he could not name and which, for some reason he couldn't quite put his finger on, it set him on edge.

A low sudden growling reached his ears and, looking down at the source of the sound, he saw Bostov, Yuzu's cat whom he was sitting for the week, crouched at his feet, back arched as if ready for an attack, fur standing on end.

The sight made him frown.

The mild cat had never acted so strangely before, even with the daily spiritual visits he received. Watching it now, the nervous twitching of the small body as the cat stared off into the darkness of the passage way, hissing loudly, he had to wonder if something was wrong with it. Before he could truly consider it, suddenly, without warning, the cat sprang from his nightly position at the foot of his bed and raced through the door and into the darkness.

Ichigo let out a muffled curse, pulling the sheets off his body as he set after the cat. Trust the stupid ball of fur to get spooked on the one night he was really tired.

As he stepped out into the dark passage way, it occurred to him that the music was still playing. The tune jumped about the walls, the tempo slowing and quickening at a controlled pace.

There were no mistakes in the rhythm, the beat flawlessly flowing as if being played by a master pianist.

Slightly shocked, he stood for a moment, mesmerised by the sound. It seemed to pull him in and it took a moment to realise he was still standing in the hallway, with no Bostov in sight.

It took him another minute to realise that the music was coming from the large concert piano in his living room- a gift he had received from one of his wealthy patients.

He headed towards the sound.

The tempo of the music seemed to increase as he drew nearer, rising to a tumultuous crescendo in anticipation of a rousing finish. His frown deepening, he stepped from the stairs, walking quickly and purposefully towards the room shrouded in shadows and darkness just ahead of him. The minute he stepped into the room, the song ended with a resounding off-key chord. The candles on top of the piano that he didn't recall lighting flickered at the sound, dancing wildly as if being moved by a sudden wind.

The shadowed form at the piano stood then, a small, thin frame, and turned to him.

It was his nightly visitor that he had not seen in days.

Relieved, he started towards the small form only to stop just as suddenly as it shuffled backwards. The little head shook and as the candles flickered, the light spun across the small pale face. Thin blue lips moved, mouthing words he couldn't hear.

He squinted, trying to make out the words by looking at the lips but could not make any sense of what it was saying.

"I can't," he began but the small form shook its head again and the lips moved.

The air sizzled around him and then, breaking through the quiet, he heard it- the quiet words.

"Mother."

"Have you lost your mother?' he questioned, trying to make sense of what he was being told.

Those fathomless eyes looked at him wordlessly, the expression slightly pained.

His frown deepened, puzzled at the look.

"I don't understand," he tried again.

But the figure only shook its head sadly and turned away.

Knowing she was going to disappear again, he tried to stop her.

"Hey," he called out, but she was already gone, the candles extinguishing quickly in the wake of her departure.

It went MIA again after that.

He didn't see her for several days again. Then one night, she just showed up again- this time right outside the French doors to the balcony. There had been no sound to her arrival and he didn't even understand why he'd jerked awake until he saw her standing there, a shape framed in the window, luminescent eyes staring back at him expressionlessly.

Slightly irritated by its sudden appearance and the interruption to his sleep, Ichigo grabbed his shinigami badge from its place next to his bed and staggered towards the glass doors, intent on finally giving the child a peaceful soul burial and getting some undisturbed rest once and for all. As his fingers touched the cool glass however, the child's lips moved and his whole body froze at the words.

"I want my mommy... Mother."

The mouthed words were out of synch, sounding more like the playback of a badly dubbed Japanese horror film, in his head but still he heard it clearly. His fists tightened around the badge and his throat worked soundlessly at the quiet desperation, tears and loneliness echoing poignantly in those five words.

"Your mommy's not here," he croaked out after a moment, pushing through the sudden constriction in his throat.

"Mother... Please," the mouth moved again. "Mother."

Tears rolled down the pale cheeks, splashing unto the cold concrete as the child started to cry.

"So cold... Mother... My mommy said to meet her here but she didn't come."

The fathomless eyes pleaded with him silently, begging him for something.

"Your mother isn't here," he whispered, his throat tightening even more as his past seemed to confront him. He had been this child once. "I'm sorry," he began, pushing the sadness and guilt that was rising in him away, "but your mother..."

"I want mommy," the child stated again, "Mother...I want my mother."

A cold finger danced along his spine suddenly and behind him, a raspy, all too familiar voice answered, "I'm right here, Aihiko."

Ichigo felt like his head had swollen up, becoming light and cotton-filled on his shoulders. His heart felt like it was beating from a distance outside of his chest and a strange heat filled his body, even as the ambient temperature in the room seemed to rapidly drop by at least thirty degrees.

That name...

That voice...

Without thinking, he whirled around to see who stood behind him.

She had been beautiful once. He knew that only too well, but the figure in front of him now was anything but. She was wraith-thin and haggard, auburn hair hanging lifelessly, soft pale skin now the mottled color of a decomposing corpse. Rags covered her body, displaying glimpses of skin here and there and from this distance; it wasn't hard to see the deep wounds marking the flesh, jagged cuts that seemed to have been carved into the tender flesh.

_Orihime _

He wasn't even aware he had mouthed the words aloud until those soulless grey eyes shifted to him. Their lifelessness haunted him, pushed him to step forward and reach for her.

The figure stepped back, arms wrapping around the small frame of her body in an action so familiar his heart ached. Eyes wide, fingers desperately grabbing at the rags covering her torn up flesh, the woman backed away as if he was the devil himself.

"Stay away," she cried and tears began to seep from her soulless eyes as her body trembled.

His heart shattered at the words but her tears, they beckoned to him, the sound wracking through his frame like sharp blades.

She was crying in earnest as he moved towards her, the bones displayed through paper thin flesh trembling pitifully- so much so, he fancied he could hear them clacking together.

"Orihime," he began again, trying desperately to reach her, his emotions whirring.

She only backed away again however and from the corner of his eyes he saw a darkened shape move behind her. White hands with long nails snaked around her neck, sliding up to her cheek in a light caress and he froze at the terror in her gaze. That terror multiplied exponentially as another face, so pale it seemed white in the wan moonlight streaming through the windows, a face exactly like his.

"Hello, King."

His heart fell like a heavy piece of lead into his sickeningly churning stomach.

The devilish form smirked at him, mouth curved into a malicious grin before, as if to taunt him more, a long tongue extended and swiped along the pale cheeks of his frozen prisoner.

"She's fucking beautiful, ne King?" the figure rasped, firmly grasping the girl's chin as his tongue made another languid lick, "but even more fucking delicious."

The dark bottomless pits lit by the pale irises moved to him, watching intently as his other hand appeared from the dark to slide up the slender sides, moving languidly to her right breast before giving it a hard squeeze.

The girl shuddered at the touch, pale blue lips trembling and Ichigo felt his emotions crashing down on him like a heavy wave, battering his very innards at the sight. He wanted to move, to run to her, snatch her away but even as he struggled to do so, some unseen force kept him immobile, forcing him to be an unwilling bystander to the events unfolding before him.

His eyes closed at the realisation, and then reopened. His voice solidly slid past his throat, despite his inner turmoil and the fear that was threatening to choke him alive. "Let her go."

A bark of laughter echoed in the air. "Or what King? You'll beat my ass? Don't make me fucking laugh!" The fingers on her chin tightened, making her wince as small half moons welled with blood from the pressure, sliding down the pale skin. "She's mine now," the figure so like him stated bluntly.

The words forced a strangled, "No," from his lips but the Hollow was not yet finished.

"You've already lost her," the Hollow said in a low voice, silencing him as he placed his right hand on her throat providing just enough space between his fingers for her to barely breathe, those dark eyes never leaving his, "She's mine now. Mine to play with, my toy to do as I please...." a slow languid lick to the side of her neck punctuated his next words, "Mine to fuck..."

The words propelled Ichigo to struggle harder against the invisible binds, but the Hollow didn't even budge, merely smirking wider as he stated, "Uh uh... If I were you, Kingy, I wouldn't even think of coming any closer. Who knows what I might be tempted to do to your Princess?"

As if to reinforce his point, the white-haired fiend reinforced the grip he had on her throat, watching her choke on a sob with growing glee before his other hand wandered down, the thin rags covering her mottled flesh disappearing in its walk downwards.

"You were such a lucky bastard…" he stated with a grin, not paying attention to the tiny whimpers of the woman in his arms as his hand slid up again to latch on to her breast, squeezing it roughly.

"All of this was yours," the hollow preened, "All of this glory," the pale hands slid to the other breast, pinching the pale nipples hard, "yours, but not anymore. See what she is now, King? _Mine. _Look at my marks," more rags fell away, exposing the extent of his rough treatment, making Ichigo feel so sick with horror as more cuts and bruises filled his sight. It was a wonder his stomach contents remained where they were.

"She's mine," the Hollow reiterated while Ichigo stood still, frozen, "Watch how she responds to me."

The white head dipped and Ichigo felt for sure he was in Hell as the Hollow chuckled and pressed his lips against hers, absorbing her cries. He watched as the Hollow's tongue slithered inside her mouth, tasting and exploring her fully, lustfully, those dark eyes open even as he did so, watching him and gauging every twitch of his muscles calculatingly as his hand shifted from her breast, moving further down her side, her thighs, only to slide back up to cup the mound of her femininity through the remaining rags bundled around her hips.

He released her lips suddenly at the intense flare of power sizzling through the room, eyes glinting as the woman in his arms gasped for air, her tears long dried on her mottled cheeks.

"You want to save her, King?" he questioned, his tone causing Ichigo's heart to speed up into an even faster tempo as he fought harder against the invisible restraints. "How laughable! You, who couldn't even protect her from me."

The right hand tightened at her throat once more, blood forging a trail quickly from where the long nails punctured the skin.

"This woman... she means that much to you huh?" The dark eyes slid disdainfully over the softly whimpering woman before going back to Ichigo.

"Such a fucking waste," he hissed, "Everything for one worthless woman. You're so fucking useless, King. Seeing you now, it makes me fucking sick. Just look at you, ready to tear me apart over some foolish woman. Just makes me want to see you suffer even more, die that slow death you seem so intent on making me experience."

Something changed in those dark orbs and Ichigo's body tensed accordingly with the next words.

"I wonder how you would react, King? What would happen if another precious thing was taken from you? Would it break you? Would it make you scream in agony until your throat was raw? Would it make you hurt?"

Saliva slid down his throat like a huge lump, his heart pounding heavily in his ears. His throat worked, trying to get out words that seemed lodged there in trepidation of what those words could mean. "Don't," he began and the dark eyes hardened.

"Fucking miserable," the Hollow spat viciously, "Just look at you, ready to beg for this fucking piece of worthless trash. This... is this what you really want? This piece of broken flesh? You could have had the fucking world, King," the voice became even more bitter, "but now..."

Something glinted in the dark in the next moment and he opened his mouth- to shout or to warn her, he wasn't sure- but no sound came. The glint moved, sliding through the air swiftly and he felt the cold splash of liquid hit his face.

His heart stopped, eyes staring dumbly at the face of the woman he loved, transfixed as he watched blood appear at the side of her mouth, watched it trickle down to her chin before breaking away to join the large stain of red quickly pooling at her feet from the claw like appendage impaling her through the stomach.

"You will have nothing," the Hollow finished.

"Orihi-" the whispered words broke off as she slid bonelessly to the floor and his horror heightened as he stared back at himself, pale amber irises in a sea of darkness smirking back at him again as that long tongue slithered out to lick at some of the blood splashed unto his skin.

His body felt separated from himself at the sight and he didn't even notice as the form in front of him disappeared until a smirking face filled his vision and sharp looking fingers were arcing towards him. He felt it cutting into his stomach through a heavy haze, the sensation of being lifted off the ground, the searing, darkening pain and vaguely heard the sound of someone screaming wildly in the distant background.

The child, he recalled belatedly. His head moved on instinct, seeking it.

The hand pulled back, nails hard and sharp digging into his flesh again and forcing him off balance, but he didn't even feel it as his eyes finally alighted on the screaming child.

The dirty hood had fallen off and for the first time he saw what the child really looked like.

It was a boy… a boy who was an exact miniature mix of himself and Orihime.

He felt hot and cold at the realisation, waves of panic suddenly feeding through his veins like electricity. He realized in an instant he would be next and that there was no way he could stop it.

His throat moved desperately, struggling to find the words to tell the boy to run. His blood pounded in his ears, blocking out the shouts of terror to silent screams he could no longer hear. His lips moved, fighting, and then pain- hot and searing filled his body making him close his eyes, trying to block out the agony. Light flashed brightly against his closed eyelids, an uproarious sound like thunder sounding in his ears, deafening. He felt the sensation of a large chunk of flesh being ripped off, steady pin pricks of pain going everywhere and then everything just went black.

**

**

It's always at this point that he jumps into wakefulness, his body jerking upright so suddenly, the world spins dizzyingly. His heart is pounding loudly, beating away like a wild thing in his chest, threatening to break through his ribs. His breath is coming out in uneven pants, his chest tight, lungs aching with a desperate need for more air as his body tries to recover from the remnants of his dream.

A shaky hand moves to grab at his aching head. The slickness of the cold sweat washing his body meet his fingers and, the images of his nightmare still fresh in his head, he forces his eyes close momentarily, wishing the images away as he has for the past two weeks.

When he opens them, he turns to the spot next to him, seeking the only thing that would reassure him.

New panic hits him as his eyes alight on the rumpled empty spot and before he can even think straight, he is off the bed and padding barefooted across the cold floor. The naked soles of his feet make a soft patting sound against the concrete as he moves, checking each and every room in the spacious three bedroom, two bath house, his heart hammering with an unease bordering on panic as he steps into the living room and his ears pick up the sound of music softly floating about the room- the same piece from his dream.

There is no ghost child sitting there though, no pale demon lingering in the shadows. The room is just like he had left it before going to bed- papers scattered all over the small coffee table, a rotting apple core sitting on one of the heavy volumes resting there as well.

The piano, the same one in his dreams, is sitting a small distance away from the messy table, untouched and silent.

Dragging his gaze away from it, inwardly berating himself for his foolishness, he turns to head for the kitchen. The thin white curtains flutter out of the way as another puff of wind comes through the room and as they move, it is then that he finally catches sight of her, a small form silhouetted out on the balcony, leaning on the rails.

Relief floods him in a heavy wave and he starts straight for her.

He doesn't go directly to her though, moving to stand quietly in the frame of the balcony doors instead, ignoring the sting of the frozen metal against the small parts of his exposed skin as he stands content for just that moment to watch her, to let himself revel in her presence and let the remnants of the nightmare seep away before he alerted her to his presence.

She's wearing one of his shirts tonight, he realises, a practice she's started to do more and more lately. It makes him short on shirts, but he would gladly go shirtless just to see the way she looks in his clothes, to smell the way her scent mixes with his. His eyes wander, languidly taking in the way the thin cotton drapes over her small but curvy frame, the way the sleeves reach right down past her elbows even with the haphazard folding she's done, the way the hem at the bottom plays against the silky skin of her thighs.

His frown deepens suddenly. _How in heaven's name is she not cold?_

He makes to move towards her and she shifts, her head tilting toward the moon. Her lips open up in a sigh, the light, wistful sound reaching him quickly on the sudden breeze. He stops again, watching fascinated as the wind throws out her hair behind her like finely spun copper in the moonlight. Her face is in profile to him and even from this distance, he can see her eyes flutter close, her head tilting even more to catch the wind on her face, her lips curling into a small content smile as the atmosphere becomes still again, the wind gone and leaving her hair in a tangled mess.

Unable to help himself, he steps out unto the balcony, disregarding the cold seeping into his bones from his bare feet hitting the cold tiles. He just needs to get to her.

Reaching her, his arms encircle the small waist, leaning into the soft warmth. He can feel her smile as she leans back into him trustingly, her head tucked under his chin.

"Good morning, Ichi-kun."

Her voice...

He pulls her to him tighter, burying his nose into her hair. She smells so good, so real, and she's so warm, reassuringly so alive.

Dainty fingers brush across his arm. "Are you okay?" she asks and her concern is evident in her tone.

"Fine," he returns before adding, "but you shouldn't be out here."

She smiles, shaking her head. "No, you're not fine," she says softly but firmly. She says nothing else however, not pushing for an explanation in the quiet understanding that he wasn't ready to tell.

His mind flickers to the images of his nightmares briefly and his arms tighten as he sees himself, that other part of him again, sees it hacking through her body.

It's his worst fears realised, the possibility that "_he"_ could hurt her and that he would be unable to stop it from happening. It's the fear that keeps him up at night, that motivates him to train so hard, to suppress "_him."_But lately, despite his efforts, he can feel _"him"_even more, struggling inside, forcing his way out and it scares him. That darkness under his skin: it's just there, lingering, waiting for the opportune moment, a dark lust boiling over from it, spilling into his thoughts at times.

And he fears for her, of what _"he"_ might do. Fears for the glimpses he sees in his dreams at night, fleeting glimpses of blood, all hers, and frightened grey eyes.

His frame shudders and his head falls into the crook of her neck, breathing in her calming smell.

She lets him grip her tighter and nuzzle her neck. Although he knows this sudden rush of tenderness may be surprising to her, she doesn't question it. For that he is grateful, unsure of just how he would even begin to explain his fears to her.

"Ichigo," she calls after a while.

"Hmm," he hums.

"I love you."

He nuzzles her neck again in response, still overwhelmed despite hearing those words for more than three years now.

He feels her smile against his cheek nuzzled against hers, feels her shifting as her hand moves from his arm, gently smoothing over her abdomen.

Ichigo's eyes follow her hand, eyes softening as they come to a stop over the newly formed curve, the small swell marking the spot where their baby lay nestled, safe and warm in the confines of her body.

Their child. His and hers- a life they had created together.

Aihiko,the name she had decided on if it was a boy.

The ghost in his dreams...

His hand moves, following hers before it comes to rest on the slight swell of her pregnant belly, emotion welling up and overwhelming him.

He has to protect both of them, if only for the sake of his own sanity.

A shiver breaks the mood and she turns in his arms, seeking warmth.

Feeling content just to touch her, he adjusts his hold, hugging her to his frame and letting her bask in his body heat for a moment. When she shivers again despite his heat, he finally pulls away.

"Let's get you inside and warm," he states firmly.

She smiles in reply and nods. "Hai, hai, Kurosaki-taichou."

Minutes later, she is in his arms again, snug as a bug as they lay bundled in the heavy blankets. Warm and safe, her eyes soon start to droop sleepily, but he is still wide awake, watching her and wondering how in the world he had ever been blessed to be loved by this beautiful woman- a woman who had been through so much and yet could still smile so happily at him, fill his life with such contentment.

Sometime later, images of his nightmare firmly dispelled and his fears dissipated, he let himself relax to the sleepy caress of her hands in his hair, snuggling into her warmth. Her heart beat is loud and steady in his ears, the sound reassuring. Despite himself, he starts to doze off again.

When he is roused from his warm, dreamless rest an hour or so later, he is then understandably disoriented. Confused as to why, he opened his eyes, face going upwards immediately as if to reassure himself she was still there and that it was not her wanting to move, or moving, that had roused him.

Pale amber eyes in a sea of black met his gaze, lips turning up into a slow smirk as long finger nails dug into the flesh of his back, holding him prisoner even as he started to struggle to pull loose. A low dark chuckle filled the quiet at his futile activity and then a voice, no longer sweet and soft filled the room.

"Hello again, King. Miss me?"


End file.
